England, against most expectations and despite lingering shortcomings, eked out their second win of the championship to strike a blow for sheer bloody-mindedness over dreaming. Brian Ashton was, according to the broad sweep of opinion, either seer or idiot going into this game after two indifferent England performances, but, ultimately, his pragmatism paid off. Jonny Wilkinson proved there is life left in the enigma yet, young Richard Wigglesworth overcame a stuttering start to harry both his opposite number and his own forwards, clinching his first start with a try at the end, and the three-quarter line, with Toby Flood and Jamie Noon clicking like a pair of nightclub bouncers, turned in a quite stunning performance in defence.

It wasn't vintage England; it wasn't nouveau France. In fact, it was a bit ugly. But, somehow, we suspected it was going to be that way all along. What we didn't know, really, was how either side would conform to type. This, we were told - and believed - was going to be a clash of the English titans and the French dancers - although flashing up Charles Hodgson on the giant screen before kick-off rather than Paul might have dented England's sense of identity somewhat.

England were always going to depend heavily on their muscular philosophy and the first score came out of defence, not so much a rush tackle by Jamie Noon as a licence to hospitalise. Cédric Heymans, who'd made the shakiest of starts by finding touch on the full, was waiting like a marooned sailor for an agonisingly looped pass from François Trinh-Duc when clattered amidships by the Newcastle centre. It was a tackle of beautiful brutality. The ball was jolted free from his nervous grasp and Paul Sackey, whose attentive liveliness has transformed him from a mere flier into a well-rounded winger, kicked on and flopped on the ball over the line.

England targeted the notoriously left-footed Heymans in France's left rear pocket, allowing him no angle to get distance kicking out of defence. It took the form full-back of the tournament out of his stride and, desperate to make amends for his early frailty, he cut across field, eluding Wilkinson's dive, but, with the shark-like Vincent Clerc on his shoulder and almost begging for the ball, was bundled over the line.

Aurélien Rougerie came in for similar treatment on the other side of the field as the cover swarmed in good numbers and it was obvious England's concentration levels had risen some way above that of their lamentable sleepwalking in the second halves at Twickenham and Rome.

James Haskell, perhaps the most eccentric England forward since Mick Skinner, needed no reminding he was in the game when an errant fist flattened him on the floor during a tackle, but the real damage was done to his ankle and he withdrew in the 21st minute, replaced by debutant Tom Croft.

Marc Lièvremont signalled his intent when he went into this match with kids and no kicker and France paid for the eccentricity when Damien Traille, third-choice at his club, pushed a relatively easy chance wide. He later hit a post from a decent position.

In the open, meanwhile, France ran with their customary freedom and England's defence needed to be razor sharp. To turn the stereotypes on their head, it was French brawn that brought them their 25th-minute try, Lionel Nallet the spearhead of a mighty shove that buckled the supposedly heftier beef of the English pack - and Traille landed from wide. So much for preconceptions.

Iain Balshaw made a risible effort at taking Trinh-Duc's up-and-under near his own 22, missing it by a good couple of feet, and only Sackey's alertness saved the day. But France had good field position from the breakdown and it took a cracking tackle by Wilkinson on Louis Picamoles to stop a try.

Traille failed to punish a penalty for a late tackle, hitting the right post, and England regrouped after the most severe pressure. At half time, they had the lead, 13-7, but not the ascendancy - again going against trend.

The blue wave kept coming in the second half, though. Mark Regan , moments after being flattened, punched Lionel Faure in full view of the referee and France were suddenly a mere penalty behind.

But if indiscretion were to determine this result, the strong impression, relying again on history, was that it would be France's folly more so than England's. And, a quarter of an hour into the session, who would have thought that, even from 42 metres, Wilkinson would not find his imaginery Doris up in the stands to give England a bigger cushion? He missed another, going closer, from almost exactly the same place and the tension remained high - eased just a little with a left-footed drop goal by the maestro 17 minutes from time.

But England were winging it. They struggled for fluency whereas the French oozed confidence. Jonny, meanwhile, just kept pecking away, this time from a metre inside the half, putting England two scores clear with 13 minutes left.

Dimitri Yachvili, on for Morgan Parra, the youngster who had a fine match at scrum-half, made himself useful with a penalty, but the youthful spark had now gone from the French attack - and David Skrela, on for young Trinh-Duc, did the cause no good at all when he knocked on in front of his posts, giving England a heaven-sent chance to wrap things up with tried and trusted bullying up front. From the put-in a few metres out, they charged hard and patiently, inviting a French error. And what a heartening sight it was to see young Wigglesworth picking up his fallen forwards and virtually hurling them back into the fray - and how gratifying it was for him to eventually peel away from the melée and stretch across for the try that took the last vestige of fight out of the French.

Weirdly for France and their supporters, Mr Walsh blew time with 78 minutes and 44 seconds showing on the big screen. That screen had got it wrong from the first to the last - but England, finally, had got it right. Sort of.